


The Mysterious Grand Inn Hotel

by Classified_Information



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Haunted Houses, Mystery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Classified_Information/pseuds/Classified_Information
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides that it would be fun to take a break from solving crimes, so he and John go away for a few days. Little does John know, the hotel they're staying at has a strange mystery of its own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Our Flat

**Author's Note:**

> Still a work in progress. And I'm a very slow writer, sorry... Updates will take forever because I only write when I'm not busy and when I can be bothered, so... Yeah. Apologies for the long waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick introduction to the story... kinda like a prologue.

_November 29 th Tuesday_

_9.45am_

‘I’ve decided we need a break, John,’ announced Sherlock loudly, throwing down his newspaper on the breakfast table. I stared at him blankly as I sipped my tea. ‘It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper break, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so, but only because you can never leave your work alone. You’re addicted to it.’

‘Nonsense! I’m not addicted to my work.’

‘Yes, you are.’

He sat in silence for a moment as if considering what I had said. ‘Maybe I am addicted to my work…’

‘ _Maybe_? Sherlock Holmes, you are the biggest workaholic this side of the centaury, there’s no “maybe” about it!’ I joked as I rested my cup on a coaster, ‘Still, why the sudden interest in a break? Wouldn’t you just get bored?’

‘I’d find a way to keep myself amused,’ said the detective as he rose from his seat. He lightly stepped over to his armchair where he had his violin placed against a cushion. Picking up a slice of buttered toast from my plate, I happened to take a glace at Holmes’ morning paper. I saw, on the front, a picture of an old building – a _very_ old building, in fact. It was a hotel by the name of Grand Inn and it was, according to the paper, “tumbling out of business faster than a shot bird falls from the sky.” Judging by the photograph and just looking at the place, I could see why it was loosing customers. Though, could Sherlock want to go there? I bit into my toast and with a napkin wiped away the melted butter from my top lip.

‘Where were you thinking we should go?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I have a place in mind.’

Sherlock then played a gentle melody with his violin, as he did every morning after he had finished with breakfast. I turned to the papers again and wondered to myself if this eerie location would be our next holiday destination.


	2. Arriving at Grand Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John arrive at the hotel. But things aren't quite right...

_December 6 th Tuesday_

_12.30pm_

The hotel was remote. Moors and dark woodlands crawled and grew over the land and surround the desolate manmade structure. Its title was misleading, it was no longer grand; if it ever was those days were long since dead and were now decaying with the rest of the building. Crumbling turrets were being held together with ivy; the shabby bricks forming the outer shell of the place looked as if they would turn to dust at the slightest touch; some degrading tiles covered the roof as the rest covered the concrete ground in helpless shards.

As I walked with my companion along the pathway, which snaked within the tall grass to the entrance, I glanced around the estate that would be our home for the next three days. I noticed there was a fountain further off in the distance, beside which was a garden swing, overcome with thorns and more ivy. There was a person, a guest of the hotel I presumed, sitting and reading on the seat.

‘This place is…’ I slowly began.

‘Magnificent?’ suggested my friend in a breathy tone before I could finish my sentence.

‘Not really my choice of words. Why did you want us to come here, of all places?’

A mischievous grin spread across his long face and his eyes lit up with a great enthusiasm and I knew instantly why he wanted to come here.

‘There’s a mystery here, isn’t there?’

‘Indeed, there is!’

‘Of course, why wouldn’t there be? Well, why don’t you brief me on it, I can tell you’re dying to,’ I said as I walked the steps to the door.

‘The family that owns this estate claims to have a monster lurking on the grounds.’

I was rather taken aback by this statement. ‘I would never have thought you believed in monsters, Mr. Holmes?’

Sherlock scoffed. ‘I don’t, that’s why we’re here: to disprove it!’

I sighed audibly and pushed open the heavy door. Inside that crumbling mess was a palace fit for royalty. The stunning decoration and rich furnishings inside were revealed to us like we found a sparkling gem deep within a coarse, grey rock. I stared in awe at everything around us but my friend, not unimpressed though quite uninterested, marched towards the reception desk.

‘I’ve made reservations under Holmes,’ he declared to the young woman there.

‘Of course, sir. And your friend, has he made reservations of his own?’ she politely asked looking to me.

‘Sorry, yes, I’ve made a reservation under Watson,’ I hastily replied, snapping back into reality out of my rich wonderings.

She smiled and fetched us both room keys. ‘I’m assuming you two want rooms close to each other so you’re in room forty-three,’ she said, handing me a key, ‘and you’re in room forty-four,’ she handed Holmes the other key. We both thanked her and searched for our quarters.

Marching up the grand staircase I turned to my companion and asked to hear more about this so-called “monster.”

‘You see, John, I don’t know. I read about this place in the papers and it was only mentioned briefly. Nevertheless, it aroused some suspicion in me so I had to come here for myself. I thought three days would suffice for solving this mystery!’

‘I see…’ I trailed off. ‘So, what if there isn’t a monster here? What if we’ve come here to look around but, after three days, find nothing?’

‘Then we go home. I’m not expecting to find a monster, John. I’m looking for clues that suggest something unusual is going on. Once I find something, I’m going to prove those clues have been set up by someone to scare us into thinking that the legend is real, do you see?’

‘Yes, I suppose I do.’

‘Good.’

I didn’t say a thing for a minute or so, but I did ask him after a while another question that still remained to puzzle me. ‘What does the monster look like?’

‘I can’t say I know that either. Though, I’m sure the family living here will have some sort of photographic “evidence” that they show to other curious guests. We’ll go put our things in our rooms then we could go and look for other guests or the family members that could tell us about the monster.’

‘Sounds good! Which way are our rooms though, there doesn’t appear to be any signs.’

We stared down a long corridor to our left, and another to our right.

‘We’ll start down here,’ said Holmes bounding to the left. I followed fast behind and kept a close eye on all the room numbers as I made my way past the doors. One door I saw was open and I glanced inside for a split second before rushing past. But, in that time, I saw a woman sitting on a white ottoman by the window. I did not know what, but something about her made me stop and I returned to the room for another look. Although, this time, she was gone. I assumed she had merely just moved away from her seat so I continued to follow my friend, who by now was standing beside two rooms.

‘I’ve found them!’ triumphantly declared the detective.

‘Ah, good, well done.’

‘So, just drop off your things inside and we’ll be on our way!’

I took out my key to open the door; Holmes had already unlocked his door and thrown his things in the room whilst waiting for me so he inspected the area instead. Inside my room was beautifully luxurious. An ornate, darkly stained oak four-poster bed sat majestically in the center of the room, covered with rich crimson silk and Egyptian cotton sheets. There was an ornamental fireplace overflowing with fresh flowers, also, there was gorgeous hardwood flooring that was partially covered by a Persian rug. The entire room craved five-star attention, and it fully deserved it. However, as I read the week before, the hotel was going out of business. I had my doubts about the place, but upon seeing its fine glory I had no idea why. It was possible that it was because of the location and how the hotel appeared from the outside, but surely all that wouldn’t matter upon entering into it? I stumbled over a dozen explanations in my mind but I couldn’t think of a good answer. _Unless…_ I thought to myself, _No, that’s impossible. Monsters aren’t real. There will definitely be a logical explanation to all of this!_ A knock shot from my door and I jumped. _Sherlock must be getting impatient._

‘Sorry, I’m coming, hold on.’

There were another two knocks.

‘I'm on my way, Sherlock!’

Three more knocks.

‘Sherlock!’ I stormed to the door and opened it. ‘I said I was- ’

No one was there. I gazed down the hall at Sherlock who was on his phone and waiting for me at the top of the stairs. He saw me.

‘Come on, John! We haven’t got all day!’

‘Yeah, I’m… coming. Did you knock on my door?’ I asked as I exited the room and made my way to my friend.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’ve been standing here.’

‘Did you see anyone? Did anyone cross the hall there?’

Sherlock furrowed his brow at me in a curious way. ‘Did someone knock on your door?’

‘Yes, Sherlock, someone did, and I’m asking if you saw _who_?’

‘No, this hall was completely… deserted. That’s remarkable! How many times did they knock?’

‘Six in total.’

‘How unusual… I think I am going to like it here!’

He skipped down the stairs happily and I gradually followed, slightly shaken by the mysterious event.

_1.45pm_

We ventured out into the wilderness that engulfed the hotel. The guest from before had gone by now and we decided that we should inspect the fountain.

‘It really is a shame about this place,’ I said. ‘They’re going out of business.’

‘I know, I read about it. The hotel, I'll admit, not including its grounds and exterior, I must say, is a lovely one. The staff seems pleasant, as well. Why do you think their business is so terrible?’

I paused to think. The thought that the monster could be real crept back on me, it sent a grave chill down my spine.

‘John?’

‘The monster…?’ I muttered.

‘What? You don’t actually believe in it, do you? We’ve not been here two hours, yet you’ve fallen to the myth already!’

‘What do you suppose they mean by “monster”?’ I queried the detective, all the while my mind thinking back to what happened in my room. ‘Do you think it _is_ a monster – maybe a creature with fangs and claws, scales or fur, I don’t know – or do you think it could be something more… supernatural?’

‘I can’t say just yet. A monsters creature, like you described, would be hard to miss. Although, if you’re suggesting this hotel is haunted by some ghosts then it could be more difficult. Of course, I think both possibilities are nonsense, but metaphorically speaking, ghosts would be more difficult to look for.’

‘I see,’ I said as I sat down, carefully, on the swing I saw the guest sitting on before. It instantly broke.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Sherlock, picking me up from the dirt.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I thought this seat would be safe, I saw another guest sitting on it earlier.’

‘When?’

‘When we arrived; we walked up the path over there to the door, I turned to look around and saw someone sitting here.’

‘I don’t remember seeing anyone, and, John, you know my memory is immaculate.’

‘Maybe you just didn’t look over here.’

‘I did! That’s why I suggested we come over here, to inspect it closer.’

I was getting nervous by this point. If the knocking on my door hadn’t shaken me – and it _did_ shake me – then this was appearing to be a lot worse. How could I see someone that wasn’t there? It just wasn’t possible! Then I remembered again. ‘Did you see a woman sitting in her room by the window as we looked for our rooms?’

‘Yes, I did see her. We should look for other guests, now that I think about it, to ask them why _they_ decided to come here.’

This reassured me slightly. My friend then turned his attention to the disused fountain. The spout and seat of the fountain were both smeared with dirt and spider-webs; in the concrete pool, there were puddles of murky water and rotting leaves, some mixed together to create an unpleasant sludge. Though, engraved in eloquent letters into the seat, was a message that read:

_“I’ll miss the days we spent by this fountain. You fell out of this world, but into another that is much kinder where you will finally be free. You shall be greatly missed. To my dearest friend:  Adam Richardson. 1931 – 1953.”_

‘Well, that’s sad,’ I said.

‘Quite. Well, I think that’s all there is here,’ Sherlock announced, circling the fountain slowly, his eyes darting around for any thing he may have missed. ‘Yes, there is nothing more to be found here,’ he stated as he approached me again from his circuit. I turned around to head towards the hotel again when something caught my eye.

‘Sherlock? Do you see that?’

‘What?’

‘Up there, do you see, on the roof? It looks like a man!’

‘Is it? That does look like a man, doesn’t it?’

Sherlock decided to call for this out-of-place figure to see if it was all right. It remained still, looking out, in the opposite direction, over the hotel.

‘Hello? Can you hear me? Do you want me to get you some help?’ Sherlock cried again. The figure was unresponsive.

‘I’m getting him help, I think he may be stuck,’ concluded the detective as he walked a little further forward. I watched then as the figure slowly stretched its arms out wide, paused for a moment, then disappeared over the side of the building. It happened so fast I wasn’t sure how to respond. Eventually, Sherlock and I sprinted to the back of the building, scared as an urgent adrenaline shot through our veins, to aid this peculiar body. We leapt over tall grass and hidden rocks and plant pots, dodging past looming trees and were out of breath by the time we reached the rear of the building. We expected to see a bloody casualty on the veranda, what we saw instead was the receptionist on her break, happily drinking a hot chocolate.

‘Are you all right? What’s wrong?’

‘We, uh… no, it’s nothing. Everything is…’ the detective searched the area vigorously, looking up to the roof at anything strange. ‘Fine? How can everything be fine? That man, he…’

The woman looked to me, ‘Are you two okay?’

I sighed, out of breath and anxious, ‘God, I hope so…’

 

_4.45pm_

The hotel, we discovered, put on a marvelous spread for dinner. However, there were only five other guests, Sherlock and myself aside, so a lot of the food sadly went to waste. Sherlock did manage to steal three little rolls of bread.

‘What are they for?’ I asked.

‘To eat later.’

‘Since when did you snack in the middle of the night?’

‘Okay, they’re for an experiment…’

‘Now, _that_ I can believe.’

I had a look around the dining room at the other five guests. I spotted an elderly couple at the far end drinking wine and admiring their surroundings; there was a bearded gentleman eating soup by the window; I saw a younger man, who was sitting with his chin rested on his hand just examining everyone as I was; and finally a young woman – who I imagined was the woman I saw earlier in her room – sitting closer to the door, drinking her water.

‘What do you make of these five?’ I smiled at my companion, for once I was actually eager to hear some of his deductions. They always passed the time in situations like this.

‘Uh, let’s see… the man by the window. He’s a bit far away, but I’ll go and walk past him to see him closer.’

I chuckled as Sherlock glided through separate tables towards the man. He turned back to me briefly and smiled, like this was our own private little game. I turned my attention to the windows that the man sat beside; they spanned across the entire wall and resembled the windows of a church, tall and contained beautiful stained glass in some parts. Most of them consisted of regular glass that appeared black against the darkening outside, but they were still lovely. It was only five minutes until five o’clock, but being winter it was getting dark at earlier times. I looked back to Sherlock, who had walked past the man and “accidentally” – I assumed – knocked over his glass of water and was helping him clean up. After a moment, he strutted back over, looking pleased as if he had made a discovery about the bearded man. He past a window and I just so happened to glance out. Though it was dark, I knew that outside was the back of the hotel and the veranda, where we had the curious incident several hours before. I wasn’t expecting to see anything out in the darkness – but I did. And I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Pale outlines of a crooked jaw and nose. A grimacing smile. Sunken eyes. Staring in for a moment before a thin hand reached up and caressed the glass with its long white fingers.

‘We have an architect having an affair with his sister-in-law!’

I could not break my gaze.

‘Care to hear my deductions?’ Sherlock sat down opposite me and saw something was wrong. ‘John?’ He snapped his fingers in front of my face repeatedly when he saw I was in an almost trance like state, I shook my head in confusion and rubbed my drying eyes. I turned to my worried friend then back at the deserted window.

‘Sher…’

‘What happened?’

‘You… you didn’t see it? No, of course, you wouldn’t have… for starters it was behind you… God, what was it?’ I lowered my head and held it in my hands, massaging my temples.

‘What was behind me, John?’ Sherlock’s voice grew deeper and more serious with concern. I looked back at him, directly into his bright green eyes, and then was distracted by the window figure standing in front of the window, now inside the dining hall. I gasped and forced myself back in my seat, staring intensely at the thing and at Sherlock as if to warn him of its presence.

‘John? What is it? Tell me!’

I couldn’t speak for fear. The figure’s crooked jaw and nose, its grimacing smile, its sunken eyes, all highlighted gruesomely in the light of the diamond chandeliers. Also, I could now see more of its unpleasant features; the figure’s irregular head tilted on a very broken neck. It stood with its back arched and had twisted bloody legs and arms; its skin was pale, scarred and tearing. No one else could see it as far as I knew.

‘Sh-Sher…’ was all I could manage, but it seemed to get the message across. Sherlock’s forehead creased and his mouth gaped open as he turned to look, at last. But we were all submerged into total darkness before he saw the monster.

 

_6.20pm_

Shortly after the lights diminished in the dining hall, everyone was ushered back to their rooms by candlelight. Luckily, the lights did return at about 6 o’clock. Apparently, the hotel had been experiencing a lot of cuts like that, each of them were unexplained, but I had a feeling I knew what was causing them, despite how ridiculous it sounded, I believed it had something to do with that... _thing_ that I saw. I just did not know how to go about explaining my theory to people. Furthermore, despite the fact Sherlock knew something very odd was happening at the hotel, he refused to believe that the monster, which I later described to him, really existed.

‘I really think your nerves are getting the better of you, John,' he told me. 'You must still be shaken from the incident with that man – if it was really a man – on the roof before.’

‘It was a man, Sherlock, you saw him, and though I might still be shaken by that, that is not the reason behind me seeing the monster!’

‘No one else saw it. I didn’t see it and you claim I walked right by it!’

‘You did walk… I saw it, all right? I wouldn’t make this up! I have no reason to!’

Sherlock paused. ‘You’re right, you wouldn't lie... We’ll investigate further in the morning.’

And then he retired to his room for the evening, leaving me anxious and afraid of what I really saw.

 

_10.30pm_

I had trouble sleeping that night, which was more than understandable. I tried reading my book to relax me but in the silence every creak and groan that old hotel muttered made me jump with fright. Giving up on reading, I decided to visit my companion again next door, assuming he would still be awake and hoping he would calm me down. I thought this plan would work so I opened my door and was greeted by dark shadows that engulfed the entire length of the hall. _I haven’t thought this through_ , I thought to myself. I wasn’t one known for being afraid of he dark, but my mind gave me the exception here. Sherlock’s door was right beside mine; I could literally touch it from where I was standing. But my body refused to move beyond the threshold of my room. _It’s right there, just knock on the door and Sherlock will let you in, you’ll be fine, it’s just the dark._ I couldn’t do it. I needed a sudden burst of bravery, or something, like a push. Which was what I unexpectedly got. An aggressive shove out of the doorframe. Turning to inspect what had caused it, my door slammed in my face and I stood alone in the darkness, terrified and unsure. My mind independently cast itself back to dinner, that monstrous thing by the window clawing its way into my thoughts, grinning at me sinisterly. A tensing sensation crept its way across my back as my breathing became laboured, my head tightened with fear, and as a chill wind brushed past me. I heard footsteps coming from somewhere but I couldn’t place them – until Sherlock’s door opened.

‘John?’ Sherlock asked confused, ‘I heard a bang, was that you?’

‘Not… entirely… No, it wasn’t,’ I mumbled.

‘Well, okay, then. What was it?’

‘My door closed on me.’

Sherlock was puzzled.  ‘Your door _closed_ on you? How did that happen?’

‘I was coming to see you.’

‘Right…’

‘Then something pushed me out and closed it.’

‘Are you feeling okay, John?’

‘No, I’m not feeling bloody okay, Sherlock! Something really strange is going on here and it only seems to be affecting me, what’s going on?’

‘Keep it down; people might be sleeping. It’ll be fine so don’t worry about it,’ Sherlock said this looking up and down the hall.

‘What are you looking at?’

‘Nothing, I’m just checking. Now! I have a kettle in my room. Tea?’

‘Please,’ I said, also checking the hall as I walked into Sherlock’s room and quietly closed the door behind me. I stayed with him for about an hour discussing the day’s affairs, and though I thought it would be best to leave and go home, as something was clearly wrong, the detective protested and told me to get a hold of myself. That made me more nervous if anything.

 


	3. The Investigation Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John make some interesting discoveries...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been SOOOooo... long, I know, sorry. This chapter isn't even entirely done yet, I literally just read over part of it now, but it's been ages since I wrote last. If there's any mistakes, I'm sorry, I'm working on it all. But here's something for the meantime.

__December 7 th Wednesday_ _

_8.20am_

I woke before my friend and so chose to investigate the veranda – the fresh morning in the new day gave me a boost of confidence, I was not wary to go out there by myself. The dining hall was the quickest exit to the back since there were patio doors that opened onto the deck, so I walked through there. It was not entirely empty; there were several hotel staff setting the tables for breakfast. I found it unusual that they set all of the tables, even though there were only a few guests actually lodging at the hotel. I walked by my and Sherlock’s dinner table then glanced over to the window where the monster stood the previous night. Feeling braver I decided to inspect it closer. A surprisingly warm sunlight shone through it, like it did with all the other windows, casting a fresh glow down onto the carpet. Staring out to the wild gardens I saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet I continued to make my way outside. It was a brisk December morning and the long grass at the bottom of the veranda was silver with frost. The veranda itself was sleek and slippery and I marched oddly across it as to not fall. The window I was inspecting seemed normal. However, the floorboards  _outside_ the window were different to the rest. Whereas the others were dark brown, growing moss and were chipped and scraped in parts, these boards were ever so slightly lighter in colour and had less greenery to be seen – they appeared newer, still old, but newer than the other boards. I crouched to examine them more but a knock bounced from the window. Sherlock stood there grinning eagerly, gesturing to me to come back inside and I sensed he had made a discovery.

‘John! I found the hotel’s library and I’ve been doing some research into its previous owners,’ he announced as I joined him inside.

‘When have you had the time to do that? You’ve been with me the whole time we’ve been here.’

‘This morning, I woke up at about five o’clock and had a look around.’

‘Oh, I thought you were still sleeping.’

‘No, of course not, I was researching. Anyway, do you remember yesterday at the fountain?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Do you remember the name engraved _into_ the fountain?’

‘No, I don’t- wait, no, was it Andy? Or Alex?’

‘Adam.’

‘I was almost right.’

‘No, you weren’t, John. Anyway, he died here in 1953. Care to guess how?’

‘I’d rather not…’

Sherlock paused and smiled at me mysteriously.

‘Are you not going to tell me? You really want me to _guess_ how this man died?’

‘Please.’

I groaned and turned away, staring out of the window. I looked at the floorboards outside again as I thought, trying to decipher them as well as Sherlock’s puzzle.

‘It’s really obvious, John. I mean it’s _really_ obvious, you should have got the answer by now.’

Then it clicked.

‘He jumped off the roof, didn’t he?’

‘ _Finally!_ ’

‘You don’t seem too shocked! That man jumped- ’ I suddenly froze. ‘Was that… We couldn’t have seen- ’

‘Adam on the roof yesterday?’ he finished my sentence in a cynical tone. ‘No, no, no, _I_ think someone is _reenacting_ the event for us. It is literally impossible for us to have seen a ghost on the roof.’

‘Very well, but how does that explain how I saw a monster while no one else did?’

By the expression that flooded his face I could tell he had forgotten all about that. ‘Are you still set on calling it a monster? I mean, was it _really_ a _monster_?’

‘Yes, Sherlock, it was, and you’re not answering my question.’

‘There has to be an explanation for it… Oh! Yesterday, I walked past the window and _then_ you saw it, correct?’

‘I suppose, yes, you walked past and then I saw it.’

‘And the lights went off before I saw it the second time. It’s not that I’m looking straight at it but can’t see it like you can, it’s that each time I have _missed_ it! Therefore, it could still be a person in disguise!’

‘I see… that makes sense. Although, what about when I saw someone on the swing out the front but you didn’t? You were looking straight at them that time.’

Sherlock stopped again. ‘I… don’t know. I’ll solve this, though, you’ll see! I refuse to believe there are really ghosts here, John, it’s simply impossible.’

At this moment I chose to tell Sherlock about the boards outside the window. He seemed interested and wanted to inspect them for himself so I led the way.

‘Ah, yes,’ he muttered, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a little chilled cloud of air, ‘this is most likely where Adam landed all those years ago. He broke the old boards on impact and after removing his body they repaired the decking. Though this is quite a large area of replaced wood, could he really have broken so much? Well, unless of course there was a bit of blood splatter, that can be difficult to clean sometimes so replacing the bloody wood too was probably wise...’

A bitter cold sensation shot up my spine, he was so blunt with his descriptions, and to think this all happened right where we were standing – though at least now the boards had an explanation.

After breakfast, our investigation continued. Sherlock wanted to show me the library and the books he was studying earlier that morning. The library, it turned out, _had_ been sealed off to guests – like a thing like that would stop Sherlock. Luckily for him, no one had noticed him break in and enter the place, so he was free to roam around the dusty shelves of books and files without any bother.

‘Look here, John,’ said he as I stumbled over randomly placed boxes, ‘this is where I read about Adam.’

He pointed to a few lines of text in a book he had opened out on a clustered table. It read:

“ _Adam Richardson. Born: 28 th of January 1931. Died: 17th of July 1953. Age: 22 years old. Cause of death: suicide – jumped from the roof of the Walter family’s estate home on the 17th of July 1953._”

Then there was a newspaper clipping from the week he died:

“ _People who knew Richardson say he was a happy man. The Walter family welcomed him into their home with open arms and he had no known enemies on the grounds, or in the neighbouring villages. The reason for his death is unclear to the Walter family. Even a close friend of his, Ruth Walter, is unable to come to terms with his sudden death.”_

‘What do you make of it?’

I read them over and over in my mind. ‘I don’t know. Am I supposed to think something of them? It’s just a record of his death, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but something seems strange to me.’

I looked up at the detective. ‘Oh?’

‘Outside, on the seat of the fountain, it read: _You fell out of this world, but into another that is much kinder where you will finally be free._ What does that sound like to you?’

‘It sounds like…’ I thought for a moment, ‘that Adam maybe had some problems here? Which could be described as unkind, and in death he would be free of whatever it was? I don’t know.’

He grinned. ‘Well, John, for someone who doesn’t know you’re almost exactly right. You’re missing something, though, what is it?’

I turned to read the records again.

_“He was a happy man.”_

_“Welcomed him into their home with open arms.”_

_“He had no known enemies.”_

‘If he had a happy life here… what was so unkind that he was free from in death?’

‘Bingo,’ Sherlock took out his phone and took photos of the notes, ‘somebody’s been telling lies.’

‘Who?’

‘I suggest we talk to Ruth Walter, she still lives here and she was the one who had that inscription carved on the fountain.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, and we saw her at dinner last night with her husband.’

The elderly couple.

‘I see, so where will we find her?’

‘How should I know?’ he dashed from the library. ‘Just look around for her, she’ll be here!’

I stood on my own in the dim light of the room. I peered around before leaving, though there was nothing out of the ordinary. There was the sound of something shuffling across the ground behind me, but by now strange noises where becoming quite regular. So, as I said, nothing out of the ordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends...
> 
> Thank you for reading everything so far, tell me if you want more, I'm seriously debating whether or not to continue cause I'm doing other things, so yeah... but, still, thank you. :)


End file.
